In the days that followed, Clara faithfully administered the tonic each morning at dawn, following Dr. Verin’s instructions precisely. Each time she gave Lucas a spoonful, she watched as the faint shimmer of the potion dissolved on his tongue, a subtle warmth emanating from his skin afterward. With every dose, Lucas’s strength seemed to grow, his pallor fading and his energy returning slowly but surely.
By the end of the week, Lucas was able to sit up on his own, his eyes bright and full of life again. He even managed a weak smile as Clara hugged him close, relief flooding through her. It was as if he were waking from a long, dark dream.
News of Lucas’s recovery spread through Braxton like wildfire. Villagers who had once whispered doubts now spoke in awe of the “phantom doctor,” each recounting the tale of his arrival with new details and embellishments. The healer, an elderly woman named Matilda, even paid a visit, her skeptical eyes softened by a newfound respect for the doctor she had once dismissed as a mere myth.
As Matilda examined Lucas, she murmured in amazement. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she admitted, her voice laced with awe. “The boy was on death’s door, and now he’s healthier than any child I’ve seen recover from an illness.”
Clara nodded, still grappling with her own amazement. “Dr. Verin knew things I couldn’t understand. He used herbs and methods that felt… beyond the realm of ordinary healing.”
Matilda’s face darkened slightly. “Be cautious, Clara. Magic and medicine are a powerful combination, but they can lead to consequences beyond what we can see.” She glanced at Lucas with a mixture of concern and admiration. “Be sure to keep him away from dark places for a while. His spirit has been tested, and it will need time to heal.”
Clara nodded, taking Matilda’s words to heart. Yet, as the days passed, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her son had been touched by something extraordinary—something neither she nor the villagers could fully grasp.
One evening, just as dusk settled over the village, Lucas came to her with a curious expression. “Mama,” he whispered, tugging at her sleeve, “I keep having dreams.”
Clara knelt down, brushing a lock of his hair from his forehead. “What kind of dreams, my love?”
Lucas’s gaze drifted as though he were searching for the right words. “Dreams of a man in shadows. He has a voice like whispers in the wind, and he tells me secrets. He said he would return one day… when I need him most.”
Clara felt a chill run down her spine, but she kept her voice steady. “The doctor is a kind man, Lucas. Maybe he’s watching over you, even now.”
Lucas nodded, seeming reassured. But as he turned away, Clara couldn’t shake the feeling that Dr. Verin’s influence was far from gone. The villagers might see him as a passing stranger, a healer who came and went without a trace, but for her, his presence lingered like a shadow.
That night, Clara sat by the window, watching as the stars flickered overhead, her thoughts drifting back to Dr. Verin. She wondered if he roamed other villages, healing others just as he had healed her son, or if he resided somewhere hidden, bound to the mysteries he had woven around himself.
Just as she was about to turn in, a gust of wind swept through the room, stirring the pages of a book on her table. It settled just as quickly, leaving the room still and silent. Clara shivered, feeling a presence just beyond the realm of her sight—a quiet reminder that the “phantom doctor” might be closer than anyone realized.